


admiration

by heartracer



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Angst, Blood, F/M, Knives, Praise Kink, Sexual Content, Unhealthy Relationships, but for J?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28051734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartracer/pseuds/heartracer
Summary: J is a difficult man to deal with; that doesn’t stop you from revering him.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	admiration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NotCallingYouALiar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotCallingYouALiar/gifts).



It had been a while since he first walked through the door of your apartment - strolling in with an intent, a dim glint revealing cold metal in his hand as it flashed across its smooth, hungry surface. He didn’t feel the need to familiarize himself with his surroundings, nor did he care - it was nothing, just a bunch of decorations, a set designed to complement him, to serve as a pale shadow while he performed his grandiose plays in front of it.

Although a pitch-black murk that engulfed the hallway was distorting your vision ( _or was it fear, hm?_ ), his tall silhouette stood out in stark relief against the deep, all-encompassing darkness framing its outline. His eyes were trained on you, there was no mistaking that. He was searching for something in your face - terror, repentance, reverence, a sliver of anger - something that would entertain him while he was advancing towards you, counting his steps ( _five, four, three..._ ), racking his brain about the possible outcomes of this little one-on-one of yours.

It was when you breathed in to make some room for the voice in your throat that he decided to cross the distance between you altogether, lunging forward to grab your face before you could sidestep and dodge him ( _as if that’s possible_ ). His grip on you was iron-like, leather pulling on the skin and jaw aching from exerted pressure - your hands shot up reflexively to clutch at his arms, the slight trembling in your fingers no doubt echoing into his body.

He asked you a question, then, with a look that made you feel small, insignificant, with a knife pressed flat under your jawline in a careless manner to emphasize the condescending nature of the question. The uneasiness and fear crept in, but you didn’t resist it - you let it break into flames, illuminate the ardor and fervor hiding in your eyes, and he hummed appreciatively at that, it spoke to him, appealed to his baser self, and although that wasn’t something he was after, he welcomed the insistent heat prickling down his abdomen nonetheless.

It was an empty question meant to invite a fight - mock you, force you to expose your teeth in a sneery retort, to reveal the hurt you had been swallowing down ever since you two met. You relaxed your hands, allowing yourself to feel the warmth seeping in through the thick sleeves, spreading onto your fingers. Blind adoration softened your gaze, pulled your body impossibly closer to his, and you replied - a monosyllabic answer, a faint benign sound made to fit in the small space between your faces.

The grip on your jaw loosened. He contemplated something, staring down at you absently, tapping his gloved forefinger against your cheek, studying your features. He could’ve added a thin crimson line here and there - your smooth, unmarred skin was asking for it ( _you wouldn’t let an empty canvas just sit there, would you?_ ), your blood was waiting to be released, to pearl on the silky surface and be smeared, catch onto fingertips like syrup.

His cold but curious eyes travelled back to yours. You never failed to find your way back to the more lenient side of him - of course, not without his permission - be it a brief, tender peck on his lips or a view of you from between his legs, obedient and almost religiously devout, glancing up at him, waiting for his next command, ready to please.

He let go of you and sat down on the couch in your living room, after shedding himself of the several layers he wore - the trenchcoat, the blazer, the vest - the tie was the last one to join the wrinkled pile of clothes left lying on the armchair. You watched him as he undressed, silently admiring his broad shoulders, narrow waist and slightly slouched posture, and the sight made your heart swell up with affection, a fleck of sadness tickling it lightly. He propped his feet up on the coffee table, his eyelids fell shut. You weren’t sure what your next move was supposed to be, what he expected of you - his volatility always leaving you confused and wondering, making you guess if it was genuine mirth tugging at the corners of his mouth or he got bored and had found something that would replace the humorous indulgence he was treating you with.

You sat right beside him, sinking slightly into the soft cushions, watching the darkness morph his painted features into a monstrous visage as he knitted his brows and ran his tongue along the hardened ridge of scar tissue in his mouth. Absentmindedly, as if in a dream, you brought up your hand to smooth the palm over his firm chest hidden under the half-unbuttoned shirt, feeling the scorching heat and fair hairs underneath it.

“Someone’s feeling needy.”

“Mhm.”

He allowed you to worship him, just for this brief moment - to trail the tip of your nose across his cheekbone, breathe in the smell of the greasepaint, memorize its bitter taste once again as you probed your tongue at the mangled flesh. To move to his tawny neck, pressing delicate kisses under his ear, nibbling and licking the salty skin there, getting drunk on the closeness of him, tugging at the loose collar of his shirt. It wasn’t long until he clawed into your waist and pulled you atop of him in one swift movement, and you swore under your breath, a desperate plea dying on your lips when he attacked your mouth, savoring you greedily.

A strangled moan escaped you when he lost patience and thrust himself upwards, meeting your hips halfway, holding you there as you clenched around him, the sensation eating at his control. He muttered something but the meaning of his words was lost on you, your head swimming with pleasure and your thoughts liquid from the overwhelming desire. It was nothing but flesh meeting flesh, lighting one another ablaze, air thick with throaty groans and broken whines, the sticky greasepaint on your collarbone, the rough texture of his pinstripe slacks beneath you, him calling you dirty names and you letting small confessions slip.

You lied there then, in a comfortable silence, his hand on your damp back, your head tucked under his chin, listening to his rapid heartbeat, both of you clearing your heads from the fog that consumed you moments ago. It was too much and not enough at the same time. 

You tore yourself away from his body. He admired your puffy, blood-stained lips

You traced the ragged pattern of his scars with your fingers like it was a work of art. He marveled at the smoothness of your skin like you were a living statue.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed reading this little piece as much as I enjoyed writing it ;) Feedback is greatly appreciated! Come say hi to me on Tumblr, I'm [heartracer](https://heartracer.tumblr.com/) there, too!


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